


How to lose weight in 4 easy steps

by Neutralchaos



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF!, M/M, Some Sex, Some angst, fluff!!!, how the hell do people even tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neutralchaos/pseuds/Neutralchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step one: NO BEER</p>
<p>“What do you mean you don’t wanna get a beer? You always order beer.” Keith said, looking over at Brock like he had grown a second, slimey head. Which in all fairness, he may as well have, Brock, for certain things was a creature of habit, and nine times out of ten when he met up with his boyfriend at their usual place, he ordered a beer.<br/>“well, come on, out with it. Why no beer all of a sudden?” <br/>Brock huffed, and glared over at his ( very annoying at the moment) boyfriend.<br/>“One beer is equal in calories to seven, count them, seven slices of bread. If I wanna start to lose all this chub I’ve been carrying around, I gotta start watching what I’m putting in my body.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to lose weight in 4 easy steps

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write cavity inducing fluff. I hope I succeeded ^^
> 
> Inspired by a video I saw on facebook.
> 
> Also un-beta'd. so feel free to let me know if you find any errors ^^

Step one: NO BEER

 

“What do you mean you don’t wanna get a beer? You always order beer.” Keith said, looking over at Brock like he had grown a second, slimey head. Which in all fairness, he may as well have, Brock, for certain things was a creature of habit, and nine times out of ten when he met up with his boyfriend at their usual place, he ordered a beer.

“well, come on, out with it. Why no beer all of a sudden?” 

Brock huffed, and glared over at his ( very annoying at the moment) boyfriend.

“One beer is equal in calories to seven, count them, seven slices of bread. If I wanna start to lose all this chub I’ve been carrying around, I gotta start watching what I’m putting in my body.” He explained, knowing even as it left his mouth, Keith wouldn’t get it. Why? Keith was… Keith was a fantastic specimen of a man. He was tall ( about six foot), fair skinned ( but he tanned easily instead of burning like most did), his hair was… okay his hair wasn’t perfect, with the cowlicks on it, but who the hell was going to be looking at his hair, when the man had abs you could grate cheese on. Quite frankly, Brock was tired of being compared to him and sick of hearing how lucky he was that Keith even looked at him. At only 5’6”, carrying around an extra 40 pounds or so, with olive skin and hazel eyes, Brock knew he wasn’t anybody’s first choice. 

 

So, yesterday after a disastrous conversation with a couple of his co workers, Brock decided to research some ways to start losing weight. One of the big ones was watching his calories, so he looked into how many he was consuming with his favorite thing to eat and drink and holy crap, did he ever need to cut some of that shit out of his diet. No wonder he hadn’t had any success in the past with amount of beer he drank. 

“So, you’re just gonna stop drinking all together?” Keith’s voice snapped him back to reality, and Brock gave his head a quick shake to clear it out a bit. 

“No, I just gotta watch what I’m drinking. I can still order shit.” and proceeded to order a bourbon ( or six) to enjoy for the rest his night out.

 

Step two: PORTION CONTROL.

 

Brock was a crappy cook, and that was a problem. Because, in his not being able to cook, he ate out more often than not. Which in  turn made it harder to control what went into his food and how much of it there was. So ignoring the looks Keith was throwing at him, Brock ate only three quarters of the meal he ordered and had the rest packed up. He didn’t touch the wine that his boyfriend had ordered ( too many calories) and he knew that Keith was taking it all personally for some reason. But than again, Keith was getting annoyed about a lot of things lately, and Brock was hoping that maybe if he could start to look better, that maybe Keith would stop being so annoyed with all the time.

 

Step three: GET YOUR HEART BROKEN.

 

_ I think we should see other people. _

Seven little words stared up at Brock, mocking him in the arial font that was standard on his phone for incoming texts. For the past week since he had received the text from Keith, he had found that every time he had tried to call the other man, his call went to voicemail. His texts went unanswered. When Brock went to try and talk to him at work, he was always too busy and Brock wound up being brushed off or given the cold shoulder. Dejected he tried to talk to their co workers but all he received were looks of pity and empty words of comfort.

 

For a week he went home after work, fell onto the hard floor, and cried while staring at a picture of Keith on his phone.He didn’t go out, he barely ate, he ignored the half hearted attempts to get him to go out and do things. 

 

Finally after not showering, shaving, and living in the same boxers for seven days, Brock sat up, looked around his bedroom, and made up his mind to go do something. Anything would be better than crying all the time. So he decided to finally use the gym pass he had signed up for just before Keith had decided to fuck off. Maybe He could try and win him back if he worked hard enough.

 

For the next month all Brock did was go to work, endure the pitying looks from the people around him, awkwardly wave and smile to the man that stomped on his heart, before heading to the gym. Every night he went to go and sweat it out, he would ignore the other patrons of the gym around, keep his eyes firmly ahead of him and the music blasting in ears as he jogged on the treadmill. Every Night he would go home, fry up some chicken breast and veggies ( he had gotten good at it after having to eat the first nine burnt attempts) and collapse into his bed. 

 

One night, Instead of heading straight into the building and up to his apartment, he found himself taking a detour around to the back of the building. He lets his aching, tired feet carry him up the fire escape steps to the roof of the building and he found himself staring out at the city’s lights.  Looking out at it all, Brock made up his mind. 

_ A city of eight million fucking people and I’m fucking killing myself for one? Fuck that. _

 

After that, Brock finally let himself stop moping. He got angry. He pulled Keith aside and yelled at him for being a fucking coward and dumping through a text. He went and lifted weights like he was angry at them instead of at the douchebag that tore his heart to pieces. He started to talk to the other people around him. He went home that night and instead of just eating and going to bed, he shaved off the beard he had started to grow in his depression. He went out and bought some better work out clothing and gave himself a goal to get himself to. 

  
  


He let himself run into a routine, Work, gym and then home. Except now, instead of blankly looking forward during his workouts, he started getting to know the other guys around him. Which meant he now had guys he fist bumped as he passed by them. No words were ever spoken, on mondays,wednesday,saturday, David came over and spotted for him on the free weights. Brandon “motivated” him on the days that Brock decided to hit the track.  In this case, Motivate translated into incoherent yelling because the man had a stutter like nothing Brock had ever heard before, which in turn made him hard to understand. 

 

Going into work, was… an experience lately. All of his consistent hard work had finally paid off, His love handles had given way to a flat stomach, and that was slowly starting to acquire some definition. Even if Brock hadn’t been aware of far he had come, his co-workers looking him over like he was a piece of meat and complimenting him would have been a fucking huge tip off. Keith had tried to approach him, by wearing the bracelet Brock had bought for him for some anniversary or some shit like that and saying that he had gotten it from someone really special, while peering at Brock from beneath his ridiculous eyelashes. 

 

That night when Brock goes to the gym, he finds that heavy death metal blaring into his ear drums at top volume, is fantastic to do squats to. 

 

After a while Brock starts to believe that maybe he’s not a piece of shit anymore. That maybe he can have nice things and be happy. Until Keith comes up to him at the end of a shift one day, and informs him that he’s seeing someone else and could Brock not be weird and so… himself, when Keith brings Sean around? 

 

At the gym Brock, runs harder and faster than ever before. After a few rounds of sparring with some of the other patrons, no one will get into the ring with him because he’s sent three partners off to go get bandaged up and he has to beat out his anger on the sand bags in the corner. It’s not as satisfying as hitting flesh but it will have to do. He doesn’t eat that night when he get’s home, instead he signs up on Grindr and slowly finds himself disappointed with the guys he set up with. 

 

Brock has been noticing a guy a lot at the gym lately. He must be new because Brock would’ve definitely noticed him before. He’s easily over six feet tall, built like brick house, and always has his longish hair in a headband ( and it does not look ridiculous on him. He always goes to an inconspicuous corner of the weight room and does these awesome chin ups. Brock is making it a point not to look over at him too much because he does not want to be one of those creepy guys ( like Bill. Bill currently has his hands down the old grey sweatpants that look older than him.)  But this guy has lately been always at the gym when Brock is and seems to conveniently be working the heavy bags whenever Brock is as well. So… yeah, it’s getting hard not to stare but he’s trying okay. So he turns up Slayer and concentrates on making the sweat puddle underneath himself bigger.

 

At work Keith starts parading his new boyfriend ( Sean, he recalls) around while flatly ignoring Brock the entire time. Sean is… well Sean is taller than Brock, in waaay better shape, with perfect fucking teeth, great hair… overall he looks like the kind of dickbag that would fuck your boyfriend on your bed with you watching helplessly from the door. Which is fucking bullshit, so that night he goes and bench presses double his own body weight, and no he had nothing to fucking prove, David, so just fuck right off ( he totally does). When he goes to shower off at the end of it all, he looks around, goes up to mirrors wearing nothing but his boxers, flexes his arm and sneaks a picture of himself. He e-mails to himself with the caption ‘you are a warrior’... and looks at the next day. Brock has never been more disgusted with himself than he is looking at that picture and so he deletes immediately. 

 

After weeks of following the same routines over and over and over again ( go to work, go to the gym, go home, eat a single chicken breast, go to sleep), something different happens. One night Brock notices that he isn’t the last person at the gym for once. For once it’s not him and just the staff. Tall, dark and handsome is there as well, so they happen to walk out together ( Brock does not hold the door open for him, shut up.) They get to the parking lot,with Jack (that’s his name and Brock just can’t fucking get over it but like hell he’s gonna let anyone figure that out) making small talk. He’s currently saying something along the lines of he works in the area, before Brock blurts out,

“ Do you work at Dick’s? Cause you’re sporting the goods.” and lets a long silence fall over them. Jack is looking down at Brock with an eyebrow raised over his perfect fucking green eyes. The rest of his expression is unreadable and you can believe that Brock is trying to figure out what he’s thinking. Brock can feel his face heating up and is sure that he must be lovely shade of vermillion, that is visible even underneath his olive skin. Brock is just about cut and run before Jack pipes up and asks him out to dinner on friday. He knows a great place and promises that it will be healthy. Before Brock can even give him an answer, Jack leans forward, reaches into Brock’s pocket, pulls out his phone, puts in his phone number and sends a text to own phone so can have Brock’s as well. Jack then turns on his heel, waves goodbye and gets into his truck, leaving Brock standing there wondering what the hell just happened. Brock decides that it’s not worth over-analyzing and heads home happy.

 

Brock and Jack start seeing each other a lot after that, both in and outside of the gym. They go on dates, split desserts (They’re both trying live healthier. Although Jack does indulge more than Brock but whatever), hold hands, give each other goodnight kisses that turn into good night make out sessions. 

 

Until one night, their goodnight kiss turns into a goodnight make session that is very quickly turning into… well just a wonderful goodnight. They start on Brock’s couch, with Jack on top of him, grinding his hips down into Brock’s. His lips are firmly pressed against Brock’s and his tongue is demanding entrance, that Brock freely gives, because oh fucking hell this man can do whatever the hell he wants to Brock, if he’ll just keep moving like that. Before long Jack pulls away, lifts his wonderfully big body up off of Brock and tell’s him to lead to the fucking bedroom. Which of course duh, Brock practically sprints for the room, but forces himself to slow down so Jack can follow him. Instead of just following though, once Jack is aware of which room the bed is in, he picks Brock up and carries him there. When they reach the bed (finally) Jack tosses him onto it and gruffly demands where the fucking lube and condoms are, Brock rolls over and reaches under his bed for the supplies before he tosses them over to Jack. Jack for his part, has already unbuttoned his shirt and crawling over to Brock looking every inch like the predator Brock very much believes he could be, and if Brock  was going to start being honest with himself, he would let this man devour him in a heartbeat. Jack grabs Brock by the hips and pulls him further down the bed before he unbuttons Brock’s jeans and slides them his legs. 

 

Kissing and licking his way up Brock’s thighs, Brock lets his head thump against the mattress before he hears,

“Shirt. Off.” growled at him and Brock has never been so goddamn eager to follow an order before in his life. So much so that he almost rips his own shirt off of himself. Jack chuckles, low and dark at him before he lick a strip from the head of Brock’s cock, down the shaft, tracing the vein he finds there, and ending at his balls, mouthing them gently. Brock is now effectively a mess from that one simple move ( it’s been awhile, alright?) and only manages a loud, 

“F-fuuck”. Jack smirks a bit from his place between Brock’s thighs and grabs the lube from where Brock had thrown it down on the bed. After liberally coating his fingers, his takes Brock’s dick back into his mouth and circles the rim of Brock’s hole gently, trying to get the muscle to relax a little. He tongues the tiny little slit on the head before he gently starts to push his finger in and quickly starts to fuck it in and out of Brock. After a few minutes of this, Jack ( and let’s face it, Brock too) starts to get impatient and adds a second finger. Pulling his mouth off of Brock’s cock, he focuses all of his attention onto making sure Brock is loose enough to take his dick.

 

Soon, Jack is rolling the condom on, coating himself in lube, before lining himself up and pushing himself in. He keeps the pace slow but steady, not pausing for even a second until he’s balls deep in Brock. For his part part, Brock hasn’t stopped moaning since they started, because holy fuck where the hell did Jack learn to those things with his tongue?

 

After giving Brock, enough time to adjust, Jack starts rolling his hips in a slow and easy rhythm, pulling out until just the head is inside and fucking back in quickly.

“F-fuck, harder…” Brock moans, “’m not made outta glass.”

Jack throws Brock’s legs over his broad shoulders, bends him practically in half as he leans down close to Brock’s face and purrs, “ whatever you want, Princess.” and starts fucking into him hard fast. Jack is gripping onto Brock’s hips hard enough that Brock is certain that he’s going to have bruises there for a few days. 

 

It’s really no surprise to Brock that after about ten minutes of this, that he cries out Jack’s name as he spills all over himself, coating his belly and chest. Jack groans as he watches Brock come all over himself, without so much as a hand on his cock. It’s enough to send Jack over the edge himself, as he bites down onto the junction between Brock’s neck and shoulder and spills into the condom inside of Brock. 

 

After they calm down, Jack pulls out, ties the condom off, throws in the direction of the garbage can and pads off to the bathroom to grab something wipe Brock off. Once that’s done, They wrap themselves up in each other and fall asleep.

 

After that there are a lot more sleepless nights for the two of them, they start to skip more dates and just go straight to the bedroom.  More than once, Keith has tried calling late at night and despite being tempted to answer the first couple times, Brock ignores it, until hitting the red button become second nature. 

 

One night, as they’re leaving the gym, Jack pulls Brock in close and tells him he had something to show him. They wind up on top of Brock's building, like Brock did by himself so many weeks ago, staring out in the dark at the lights of the city.

“Ain’t it pretty” Jack says, “all those lights just twinkling?”

“I guess so,” Brock says noncommittally shrugging one shoulder. He decides to tell jack about the last he was up there.

“It could be pretty, if it weren't so sad.” Brock starts slowly, looking over at the expression on Jack’s face, he continues.

“I mean, all those lights don’t mean anything. They’re just shining into cold, empty offices. Ain’t nobody in there to appreciate them.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose” Jack says, “another way, would be that, yeah, no one’s in there because they’ve all gone home for the day. They left to go see someone they love and want to spend time with.” he finishes, looking over Brock, who is looking right back at him with an expression of awe plastered on his face. Jack smiles at him, the lights from the city making him look like some kind of angel to Brock. Brock feels like his heart is going to burst out from his chest, he feels the tears forming in his eyes and doesn’t trust himself to say anything with crying. So he doesn’t.

 

One afternoon, Brock is writing out his rent cheque, and realizes that it’s been a year since he started on this journey. He thinks back to all the shit he’s been through, and thinks,  _ huh, it really wasn’t that bad.  _ He thinks of the goals he set for himself, and smiles. He stopped thinking about all those weight loss goals after Jack came into his life. He stopped thinking he was worthless, because every time he started, Jack would kiss him senseless, while telling him how precious he was. He stopped trying so hard to please everyone, and stopped giving a crap about what Keith might think of him. All in all, He finds that for once in his life, he’s actually pretty happy.

 

Step four: NO FRUIT JUICE.

 

“Are you serious right now, babe?” Jack looks at him across the table. “It’s fucking juice! One glass is not going to kill you!”

Brock smiles over the water he’s decided to stick with and shrugs.

“Too much sugar in that crap”

Jack rolls his eyes fondly, reaches one big arm across the table and pulls Brock towards him for a searing kiss. Lazily, they exchange kisses for a bit before Jack pulls away and states, 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that, right?” but his voice is laced with nothing but affection, that Brock smiles and decides to say nothing, before pulling Jack back in to try and kiss him senseless. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> TUMBLR!!! I'm neutralchaos915 
> 
> come and follow me, I don't bite that much.


End file.
